2003
by Narcissa Raie
Summary: There was no hope, no end in sight, and no one could be trusted. In a world on the brink of destruction, it seems unimaginable that something beautiful could blossom. But, somewhere, a rose is growing through a crack in the street.


**Disclaimer**: Not mine. Characters, etc. blatantly ripped off from the lovely Ms. Rowling, ideas, etc. inspired mainly by George Orwell's 1984, the graphic novel/film V for Vendetta, and other dictatorship-based government related literature that I've been reading lately.

**A/N**: I've been taking a class called Politics and Literature this past semester, and it's mostly about communism, dictatorship, uprisings of rebels, etc.-related novels that we're assigned to read weekly. At the moment I'm re-reading 1984 by George Orwell, and it's put me in a mood to write something angst-y, and this is what has happened so far. I'm hoping to just finish it up soon as possible, as I'm pretty inspired at the moment, and that inspiration with probably dry up once the class ends this Thursday.

I've never written anything like this before, so I'd really like to hear your thoughts, dear internet companions. Without further ado...

2003

The waif-like girl's recently dyed black hair flew behind her in waves as she sprinted through the dark side streets in Diagon Alley. She couldn't help but let her newly "government" (if one could even call it that) issued boots slap against the wet cobblestone as she ran, but she tried her best to keep them silent- she was out past curfew, and if she was caught consequences would be dire. Hearing a soft rumble of voices headed her way, she flattened herself against a shadowed corner in the nearest wall, her breath catching in her throat. As the two cloaked police passed her by, she feared they could hear her heart beating out of her chest, but the men seemed oblivious to her dark figure, or her tell-tale cardiac thuds- she was a shadow in the night, and she was lucky.

She knew she was putting her life at risk on nights such as these, but it was a Tuesday, and if she had any hope of retaining her sanity, she would not dare miss a meeting of the Order. The world had not always been this way, and her memories of the past kept her motivated, allowing her to risk her life every Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday evening, without question.

She had once been known as Ginny Weasley; a redheaded, carefree teenager on the cusp of womanhood, living in a world of color and love. Her family had still been intact in those days, and they were not in constant fear of being discovered. But that was Before; today she was simply lucky to be living, even if it was under an alias, as a shadow of whom she had once been, in a world that was endlessly bleak and grey.

She came to an abrupt halt in front of a barely visible door. Even if it were not under the fidelius charm (a truly necessary security measure), the dark slab of stone would not have been apparent unless one was really searching for it. A simple crack in the wall was its only defining quality that proved it existed at all. She knocked thrice, waited precisely 2 and a half seconds, and knocked once more. The crack slid open a measure, revealing a bright blue eye which roved her body, finally settling onto her face.

"Password," a voice, apparently emitting from the owner of said eyeball, croaked.

"Albus," she breathed.

The door opened, and she slid in silently. Before she had a moment to breathe in the sweet aroma of a (stolen and illegal) roasting ham, she had a wand at her throat. "What is Ginevra Weasley's ideal occupation?"

"Playing quidditch for the Harpies," she snapped, rubbing her now slightly bruised neck. "Merlin, Mad-Eye. Must you do that every bloody time?"

Of course, she knew this was a necessary precaution, but the cold and the winter rain had chilled her to the bone, and all she'd wanted to do was sit in front of the crackling fire and eat a meal that wasn't slimy or a dull shade of grey. Grumbling his inaudible response, Alastor Moody hobbled his way towards the dining table where the previously mentioned ham was being carved. Licking her lips, Ginny followed suit, taking a seat between her brother George, and fellow Order member turned aunt figure, Nymphadora Tonks. She reached out for a chipped plate, but it was immediately snatched out of her hand by the former auror with the spinning eye.

"We need to begin the meeting before we are all too distracted to cover the matters at hand," Moody snapped, glaring at Ginny. She mumbled an apology, irritated, but understanding the gravity of the situation. She didn't sneak out in the middle of the night simply for a warm meal and a bit of heat, but this did not entirely assuage her exasperation. She looked to Harry, who was seated across from her, and he gazed back with sympathetic eyes. She immediately forgot her frustrations, suddenly angry with herself for being so shallow and combative. He suffered daily, his life spent either in hiding or out for months at a time working on completing the mission Dumbledore had sent him on five years previously, while she was sitting around whining about a lack of comfort. There were graver things at hand.

"First, the news," Moody announced, turning expectantly to Kingsley Shacklebolt.

The dark-skinned man stood, pulling sheets of parchment out of his robes. He was one of the few key members of the Order allowed out with his real name, description, and occupation, making him the only member of the Order to be trusted to bring back the true news- as much truth as he could find, anyway. The group seated at the long table fell silent as his calm, yet booming voice bounced off of the soundproof walls. "Unfortunately, I will begin on a somber note. Penelope Clearwater has gone missing," there was a dry sob at the end of the table, evidently coming from Percy. His mother grabbed his hand reassuringly. "It is assumed that she has been Vaporized. Until I discover evidence of her being caught with a forbidden object, it can be concluded that half-bloods are now being targeted without direct reason. This means those of you who are half-blood or posing as such need to be on guard at all times- any form of a slip-up will be caught immediately. They are watching."

"Constant vigilance!" Moody barked as a reminder to any that had forgotten, which would be shocking, as it was a statement that they had heard from him at least three times a week for the past five years.

"Damn, just when I was about to let loose and, horror of horrors, _lose focus_," George mumbled sarcastically. Ginny snorted, immediately covering her mouth in embarrassment.

Giving the surviving twin and his baby sister a warning look, Shacklebolt continued, "On a significantly brighter note, Rodolphus Lestrange was assassinated in the night." Everyone turned to George, applauding loudly. Ginny hugged her brother tightly, Harry leaned across the table to firmly shake his hand, and Angelina Johnson, his girlfriend, kissed him on the cheek. Feigning modesty, he pretended to blush and fan himself, saying things such as, "Oh, it's nothing," and "Really, I don't deserve such gratitude."

Ginny truly wished she could see more of George. Although he was significantly more solemn without Fred, making his jokes lack the real heart that he used to put into them, at least they could lift her spirits for a little while. It was thoughts like those that almost made her yearn to be in hiding as well, staying with what was left of her family. But, she was never the type to hide behind her mother's apron, and knew and understood where she was needed

Shacklebolt cleared his throat, bringing everyone back to attention. "Yes, yes, good on you, George. While this is obviously a large step in the right direction for our efforts, there _has_ been a slight fallback. With Lestrange gone, a new head position for the _Prophet _needed to be filled; I'd assumed it would be Luna, due to her long-term experience and nearly undetectable subtlety when it came to her private views, but unfortunately, this is not the case. My apologies," he said quietly to the blonde at his left. She nodded noncommittally, clearly unfazed by the news. She had evidently seen this as an obvious outcome- she had always been more perceptive than the rest of the Order (a fact that was frequently overlooked). He continued, "The position has been filled instead by Draco Malfoy."

George snorted. "What, the little blonde git? He's practically useless. No part of that is going to hurt us, Kingsley."

"Don't underestimate him," Shacklebolt cautioned the witches and wizards, "He may be a useless soldier," there were murmurs in agreement, "but he's very clever. An accomplished manipulator like I've never seen in a boy of his generation."

"Quick as a kneazle near water," Tonks added. She was a part of society under an alias as well, as a soldier who was in Bellatrix Lestrange's regiment. She had worked alongside Draco Malfoy for the better part of three years- she knew him the best out of anyone in the Order, and could teach lessons about his strengths and weaknesses if necessary.

Kingsley took his seat and turned expectantly towards Moody to show he was finished with his piece. The older wizard struggled to pull himself back into a standing position. The years had not been kind to him, and the weather made his bones ache and his eye stick. "As there is no more pressing news, I have a few more announcements in relation to everyone's assignments for the week-" he began, but was cut off by Molly Weasley.

"Please, Alastor," she sighed wearily, "Let's wait until later. I think it's about time for a break- it is Christmas, after all."

Ginny was startled- Christmas? Already? Suddenly, the roasted ham and soft music made perfect sense, yet it was still hard for her to believe that a holiday that had once meant so much to her, something that she had counted the months, weeks, and days until its arrival, was now nearly forgotten. Between endless fear, misery, or monotony, she had suddenly found that happiness no longer mattered. Time had become irrelevant.


End file.
